


please, I can't

by SubtleMike



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Plug, Begging, Butt Plugs, Consensual Non-Consent, Crying, Dacryphilia, Established Relationship, Fear Play, Geralt's Canonically Huge Dick, M/M, Manhandling, Open Relationships, Pain, Painful Sex, Painplay, Predicament Punishment, Punishment, Rough Sex, Size Kink, Subspace, Underprepared Anal, anal punishment, brief aftercare but it's there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:40:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23024143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SubtleMike/pseuds/SubtleMike
Summary: Jaskier doesn't understand why Geralt chose today to get pissed off about his inevitably calamitous sexual escapades, but oh, fuck, he hopes he gets over it soon.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 7
Kudos: 538





	please, I can't

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually consensual non-consent, Jaskier has a safeword that he's choosing not to use, but that's not mentioned in the body of the fic so parts of it read as pretty much straight up non-con. So, like, be either warned or excited, depending on how you roll. ;)
> 
> Also, in case it's unclear, Jaskier and Geralt are in a long-term, but open, relationship.

Jaskier’s gotten himself in trouble prick-first, as usual.Geralt rescued him, as usual, and they got back to their room at the inn with barely a scrape to show for it.Jaskier’s knees are maybe a bit marked up from his rapid scramble off Lord Hempton’s dick, but given that moments ago a flying knife barely missed his ear, he thinks he’s doing pretty well.

Jaskier enters the room first and turns back towards Geralt with his best charming rogue patter running, ready to share a laugh about their latest caper.But after a moment he realises Geralt’s just standing there expressionless, staring fixedly past him, not quirking his mouth up like he usually does when Jaskier is endearingly difficult. And actually, he realises, Geralt hasn't said a word since he pushed Jaskier out of the way of a guardsman's dagger half an hour ago.Jaskier trails off, leaving them in silence, and after just a few seconds finds himself wishing rather desperately for Geralt to speak.

When he does, Jaskier rather wishes he hadn’t.Geralt’s voice has the bad kind of gravel, tense and dangerous.“Fine.You can’t go five minutes without something up your ass? _Fine._ ”

He grabs something from his pack by the door and Jaskier has just a moment to realise it's a plug before with two strides Geralt has his hand wrapped around the back of Jaskier’s neck. He bends Jaskier roughly over the bed, yanks down his trousers, and shoves the plug in, with very little care, as Jaskier yelps and squirms.

"That's staying in. Now pack."

Jaskier stays frozen over the bed for a few moments, not quite sure what's happened except that whatever it was left a sharp burn and an ache up in his gut that's somehow both dull and for just a moment almost unendurable. A sharp growl sends him tumbling off the bed and tossing his belongings haphazardly into his bag.

* * *

Hours later, it’s lunch time, and Jaskier can barely walk.The plug was far bigger than he's comfortable with in the first place, Geralt barely used spit let alone oil, and after half-running to keep up with Roach this whole time with the damn thing continuously pressing up against his insides it _fucking hurts_ and he's on the verge of tears. There's a dry raspy burn with every step forward and every time his weight shifts there's an almost nauseating ache, like there's a bruise in his belly where his brain doesn't quite know how to process it.

He's tried asking - not quite begging - Geralt to _please, please_ let him take it out multiple times.Too many times, apparently, because Geralt snapped at him to stop whining in a much more forceful voice than he'd normally use on Jaskier, even when he's in trouble.

But now it’s lunch time, they’re stopping, and Jaskier goes a little past “verge of tears” into “definitely wet eyes” out of pure relief, because he can finally, finally get the bitch of a thing out.He barely even bothers to check to see if they’re alone before reaching for his laces.He startles like a deer when an iron-solid hand stops the movement.

“We’re not finished yet.”

Jaskier blinks at him, hoping if he just waits a moment what Geralt's said won’t make his stomach drop quite so hard.He must have misunderstood, surely.Geralt was talking about something else, he just happened to interrupt him to say it at a particularly bad moment.

“I’m going to give you a choice.Either I fuck you, and we’ll call it done, or you keep that in until we stop for the night.”

Jaskier’s ears ring, because that can’t possibly, _possibly_ be right.There’s no way he could take being fucked right now, Geralt’s massive and it’s a difficult proposition at the best of times, and he hurts so goddamn much already, he _can’t_.He tells Geralt that, unsure what words his mouth chooses to use.

Geralt shrugs.“Alright then.Sit down and I’ll get us a meal.”

“No!”

Geralt raises his eyebrows, high.

“I mean, no please, _please_ , I - ”

“Please what?”

“Please, I can’t walk like this anymore, I really, physically can’t - “

Geralt shakes his head.“Not the right answer.”He turns to walk away.

Jaskier can’t take being fucked right now but he _can’t_ go another step like this and that’s a harder can’t - “Wait, please, please - please fuck me,” he says, his voice dropping down to a hoarse whisper by the end of the sentence.He vaguely notices those tears that had been trembling on his lashes are starting to drip down his cheeks.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I - please, I want you to fuck me, please.”

He reaches down again to the laces at his waist, hands trembling rather harder this time, and tugs them slowly loose.By the time he’s edging the fabric down his thighs Geralt has a bedroll laid out, his own pants shoved carelessly halfway down, like Jaskier’s not even worth the bother of properly stripping for, like this is just something to get over with.

Jaskier shakily kneels on the bedroll and pauses, before a casual tap between his shoulder blades makes him bend forward, elbows down on the fabric, and bury his face in his arms.Even without a touch he can _feel_ Geralt kneeling behind him, like his senses are stretching out, and it feels like every single thing against his skin is rough and electric.One of Geralt’s hands lands heavily on the back of his neck and makes him jolt, but his tightened muscles don't move his head an inch, not under that iron hand.

He feels a touch to the base of the plug and tries desperately to relax his muscles, but every fiber in him is pulled tight. A bright awful pain and emptiness and the plug's been yanked out all at once to the sound of a high whimper.

Geralt leans down over him and he can feel him pressing at his ass -

"No, wait, no! You, you have to use oil, please, fuck, it fucking hurts, just - just give me a minute - "

"I already have enough oil to keep this from hurting me. You're being punished, and it's supposed to hurt you." And that's terrifying, but Geralt's frozen still, at least, he's not pressing forward. Jaskier whines around the tear-brought lump in his throat. He doesn't know what to do, doesn't know what to say, he's just hoping for this moment of reprieve to last forever.

"Do you want me to stop? I'm happy to put the plug back in." The words are calm, normal, almost kind but they make Jaskier heave with a sob. Geralt's going to make him say it, ask for it, and that's part of the punishment, he's sure.

His voice wavers and his mind's all but blank but he gets all the words out, as though he's reciting a poem he could perform in his sleep. "No, please don't stop. I would like to be fucked, please." He's vaguely aware that the politeness of the phrasing is almost comically inappropriate, but that wording was trained into him young and it's still there when most of his thoughts have gone.

"This is your last chance. I won't offer a choice again. Are you sure this is the way you want to do this?"

Jaskier tries to nod but catches short against Geralt's hand, still pressing his head into his arms. He whispers a yes instead, soft enough that only a Witcher could hear it. Geralt immediately starts pressing against him again, and, fuck, he's massive, there's no way this can work even with that plug in him all day, he needs - he needs just a moment, Geralt can't _possibly_ get in - 

But he's forcing his way in, strength that can toss boulders all pushing against one point on Jaskier's fragile human body, and as he feels himself just starting to open he panics, pulling his arms from beneath his head and shoving them against the ground, hips trying to buck Geralt off. Geralt just grips his neck harder with his left hand, wraps his right around Jaskier's hip, and uses it to yank Jaskier back onto him with a single pull, and Jaskier _wails_.

He doesn't think Geralt gives him any time to adjust, but he might have, it's all a muddy mess in his head. He can't move his body an inch as much as his arms are uselessly jerking about and that sense of rough electricity that had him feeling every fiber in the bedroll is gone and all he can feel, anywhere, is Geralt's hands solid against him and Geralt buried inside him. It's so deep inside there has to be something wrong, he can feel it all the way to his ribcage, his whole body's telling him this isn't right, and he can barely even feel how much it burns now past the agonizing, nauseating ache in his insides.

He's pounded into, over and over, each time like a punch to the stomach, or maybe that's just his pulse pounding at his brain. He might be cursing or he might be keening or he might be continuously mumbling _nononono_ and he honestly doesn't know. It's forever or it's moments or it's infinite time counted out in clockwork collisions.

He's suddenly even more more full and he may stop breathing, suspended, held in a void by Geralt's hands, as the moment stretches out, and then he's _empty_.

His body moves, down to its side, a controlled motion, held still, forever, eternally, by those hands, and there's something under his head, firm but warm. His skin ripples electric.

* * *

He isn't sure if he was asleep and blinked awake, or if his eyes were open the whole time and he's only now seeing through them. His face is wet and so is the fabric under his cheek. There's an ache all through his lower half but what he feels the most is a repeated caress, his hair tugging slightly each time as a gentle hand strokes through it. There's a vibration, and he realizes it's Geralt humming, one of Jaskier's own ballads though he can't quite place which one, the reverberation from Geralt's chest coming through Jaskier's head in his lap.

After the song is over, and so are two more, the hand pauses. Geralt's voice is low but smooth. "Are you going to run off again to the bed of a man you know is being actively hunted by the law, or am I enough to tide you over?"

Jaskier nuzzles his face down into the linen covering Geralt's thigh.

"You're enough."

**Author's Note:**

> To be clear, Geralt has no issue with Jaskier sleeping with other people. He just thinks being Thirsty isn't a good enough reason to get yourself in trouble with the local Fantasy Sheriff's Posse, especially when you have a perfectly good Witcher waiting at home happy to satisfy those needs for you on a moment's notice.


End file.
